


I'm Sorry

by thefamilybusinessiswincest



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Child Abuse, Gender Dysphoria, Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, They're both mentioned, Trans Michael Mell, Trans Rich Goranski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefamilybusinessiswincest/pseuds/thefamilybusinessiswincest
Summary: Rich looks in a mirror.





	I'm Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> This is some really heavy stuff, please take care and stay safe. Ask me to tag anything if I missed it.

Rich stared at himself in the mirror, picking himself apart, bit by bit. 

He'd lost some muscle since he lost his squip. Plus, his dad found his binder and burned it. Another part of him lost to flames.  At least, the squip was able to make his voice deeper and fix his lisp. Now, it too was gone. 

Without the squip, he was just an ugly, scarred, feminine, fat, and lisping teenage boy (or girl, depending on who you ask, but Rich doesn't suggest talking to those people at all). The hurtful words and traumatic experiences may have sucked, but it's not like he wasn't already used to it. 

His eyes locked onto his torso, hating not only his stomach and chest, but the skin around them. It was littered with burn marks, from the for that forever changed his life. He didn't want to think about the feeling of flames on his sensitive skin, the overwhelming smell of smoke, the brightness of the flames around him. He was burning up, he was screaming, he was engulfed with flames, he was… back looking at himself in the mirror. 

He moved to examining the scars he created, the ones trailing across his thighs. Calculated, neat, precise. Everything Rich wasn't. One rush of the blade along his skin per fuck up that day. One for accidentally pushing Jeremy. One for almost dead naming Michael. One for each hit from his dad. One for every time someone passed him by and groped his chest or slapped his ass. One for existing. Whenever he took out his blade, it always ended with that last one. 

Maybe he could finally do it. He'd finally be good at something. Maybe he could finish what he couldn't in freshman year. 

He pulled out his razor and some pills. Whatever he could find, whatever he knew would be lethal. Rich found the strongest liquor in the house and continued his route. He headed to the bathroom, at least he wouldn't be as much of a burden in death. It'd be an easy clean of a boy easy to replace. He'd be easy to forget. 

He sat in tub and stuffed a handful of pills into his mouth, washing them down with some vodka. Halfway through another long swig of alcohol, his phone started ringing. A sound he hadn't heard in awhile.  

It was Michael. What the fuck did Michael want with a mess up like Rich? Michael was too good for him. Nevertheless, he answered. 

“Hey, Rich. I haven't heard from you in a minute, so I figured I'd ask if you wanna come over, get stoned, and play a game I just bought,” Michael said, hopeful in that plea. 

“Why don't you just ask Jeremy? He's better than my asshole self. I hurt you all of you guys. You should hate me. Just let me die in peace.” 

“Wait, what do you mean, Rich? Are you okay, fuck, say something please.”

Rich said nothing. 

“Rich, I'm coming over.”

After a few minutes of panicking, Rich scrambled to get out of the bathtub, to stop Michael from coming in. 

He lost his balance and tripped, a loud bang was heard throughout the house. A pained whimper fell from his lips as he laid in the tub. 

Michael screamed for Rich, running to where the sound came from. 

He burst into the bathroom, hit by the heady scent of alcohol. He saw the other boy, suddenly looking so small, so delicate, so pained. He moved to pick up the boy and pulled back when he felt a wetness on his hands, blood. Michael nearly vomited, the kid must have hit his head pretty hard. Then, he looked at Rich's mangled arm and figured he must've tried to catch himself. 

Michael took a deep breath and picked up Rich's half conscious body. He heard popping and cracking, but Michael decided to pretend he didn't. He brought Rich downstairs and into his Cruiser, deciding to drive the boy to the hospital. 

Michael buckled his friend into the passenger seat, and thanked whatever was out there that the hospital was so close to Rich's house. The rest of the night was an anxiety fueled blur of himself driving, checking Rich in, and waiting. While he waited, Michael texted some of his and Rich's closest friends about what happened. He spoke to a nurse, who said it was likely Rich would be forced to stay in hospital for a little while, even after he recovered. The nurse said there was more than enough evidence of multiple suicide attempts, maybe a hundred self-inflicted cuts on his body, and signs of physical and sexual abuse. A social worker would be called in and Rich would likely be removed from his father's care. He might also be institutionalized, but that would be decided later. Michael felt sick, how could he not know, how could he not see what his friend was going through? 

“Rich Goranski?” A different nurse called that name out to the waiting room, motioning for Michael to come with him. 

“He's awake, but heavily sedated. If he says anything out of the ordinary, don't take it to heart. Had you not driven him here when you did, he would've been dead. You saved his life.”

Michael didn't want to hear that, he didn't want to hear any of it. It was 3:00 AM and he felt like he hadn't slept in days and he just wanted to see his friend. When the nurse allowed him in, Michael walked up to Rich and was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. He cried and held Rich's hand. 

“I'm glad you're not dead, Rich. I don't know what I'd do without you. Please don't do that again.”

“I'm so sorry. It was too much to handle, Michael. I felt like I was drowning, I needed out.”

“I know, Rich. I know. It's going to get better from here, okay?”

Rich's voice was gravelly and broke with nearly every word. 

“I love you, Michael.” 

“I love you too, Rich Goranski. Get some rest. I'll be here in the morning.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of projection, but thanks for reading it. I appreciate all kudos and comments, and you can talk to me on Tumblr at savingthefamilybusiness or as the mod for Rich on ask-middleborough-gays.tumblr.com. I didn't proofread this, so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry.


End file.
